


A Movie Script Ending

by supergrover24



Category: Bandom, Empires, Panic At The Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M, Multimedia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supergrover24/pseuds/supergrover24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, driving down to Anaheim after the show, Tom is sure Jon belongs here, settled on the couch next to Butcher, heads together and talking quietly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Movie Script Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://mazily.livejournal.com/profile)[**mazily**](http://mazily.livejournal.com/) in [](http://nightmare-xmas.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightmare_xmas**](http://nightmare-xmas.livejournal.com/). Thanks to [](http://ninjajab.livejournal.com/profile)[**ninjajab**](http://ninjajab.livejournal.com/) for the location advice, [](http://duendeoflorien.livejournal.com/profile)[**duendeoflorien**](http://duendeoflorien.livejournal.com/) for hand-holding, and [](http://novembersnow.livejournal.com/profile)[**novembersnow**](http://novembersnow.livejournal.com/) for knowing what tense I really wanted to use. Many many thanks to [](http://femmequixotic.livejournal.com/profile)[**femmequixotic**](http://femmequixotic.livejournal.com/) and [](http://ze-dragon.livejournal.com/profile)[**ze_dragon**](http://ze-dragon.livejournal.com/) for organizing and running this holiday exchange.
> 
> Disclaimer: All photos property of Tom Conrad. Title from Death Cab For Cutie, Butcher's not-so-guilty pleasure band. Also, no offense meant to anyone. If Jon Walker wasn't where I say he was at a certain point of time, just let it go. It's easier that way.
> 
> Originally posted on LJ on January 11, 2008.

_one_  
Many people—well, okay, people who are in bands from Oklahoma—think that growing up in the northern Midwest means you're immune to the cold temperatures found in Vermont in late November. Those people are obviously fucking stupid, Tom thinks. It's twenty degrees out. That's cold, no matter where you're from.

He watches Jon and Butcher walking ahead of him, peering into shops every few feet, while Tom takes a picture of his cigarette sizzling on the slushy sidewalk.

"Dude! Tom!"

Jon's yell makes Tom jump just as he presses the button to take another shot, causing him to capture his shoe instead. He deletes the photo as he catches up to the guys. They point, grinning, to a flyer advertising a missing dog last seen on Beckett Street.

"Beckett Street, Tom," Butcher says.

Jon's grin must be infectious, Tom thinks, looking at Butcher's lazy smile. Unless they smoked up without him. Again.

"Cool," Tom says as he raises his camera to capture the flyer for William's amusement.

"Dude, no." Jon pulls the flyer off the bulletin board. "We need to go find it! The street, not the dog, I mean."

"You guys smoked up without me, didn't you?" Tom asks.

Butcher smiles, nodding. Jon at least has the decency to duck his head in shame, but Tom can see the grin twitching the corner of his mouth, trying to escape. He sighs, giving in, snapping pictures as they continue down Pleasant Street. Butcher pauses in front of a window, the sunlight brightly shining but not warm at all, and Tom captures Butcher's reflection, his own shadow overlaid. He likes the effect and resists the urge to wrap his own scarf over Butcher's upturned collar.

  


Jon's been talking this whole time, about his dissatisfaction with Columbia, with the film program especially. It's not what he wants to do. Tom listens, he and Butcher nodding appropriately, sympathetically.

They know what it's like, Tom thinks, trying to do something you think you should, instead of what you want. Jon'll get there eventually, Tom knows, but maybe he can help him along.

"Hey, Jonny Walker." Tom stops walking, grabs Jon's arm to get him to turn around. "When's spring semester start up again?"

Jon scrunches his face up in that way of his that Tom's always found adorable—not that he's ever admitted it—before he replies with a vague, "Um, January…something? Thirtieth? Why?"

"You should come on tour with us." Tom glances at Butcher, hoping he's not overstepping the band, but Butcher's nodding, so he figures he's good. "Y'know, in January."

"Really? The Ambitious Guns tour?" Jon looks back and forth between Tom and Butcher, hopeful.

"For the last time, it's Ambitious Ones and Smoking Guns," Butcher mutters. "It's not that hard."

Jon punches him lightly in the shoulder, grinning. Tom knows Jon fucks up the name every time just to annoy Butcher. It's cute, kinda.

"Yeah, man," Tom interjects. "What d'ya say? Take Britain by storm with us?"

Jon's hug is enough of an answer for Tom, and he smiles at Butcher over Jon's shoulder.

 _two_  
Last night of the tour and Tom is fucking beat. Ten shows in eleven days is rough enough back home, but put them all on a different continent with much stronger beer and everyone's energy is sapped.

He lets his body tilt slightly to the right so he can rest his chin on Jon's shoulder, peeking at the silent video playback on the camera in Jon's lap. Jon's watching footage from a few days earlier, Butcher and Spencer messing around with Spencer's kit before sound check, trying to figure out why his snare seemed off.

Jon lets his head rest atop Tom's when he powers down the camera. Tom stays silent, knows Jon will speak when he's ready, and watches Butcher napping across from them, coat zipped and hood up.

"I don't want to go back," Jon finally whispers.

Tom nods, his hair brushing against Jon's cheek.

"Not just home," Jon continues. "School, too. I like being on tour. I like being with you and the—guys, all you guys."

"You and Butcher, uh," Tom trails off when Jon ducks his head to fiddle with the camera again. Tom nudges him with an elbow to the ribs, gently. "C'mon, Jonny. What's going on with you two?"

Butcher shifts across from them, curling into the corner, searching for warmth.

"Dude, are you _blushing_?"

"Shh. God, Tommy, shut up," Jon mutters, face red, bangs hanging over his eyes. "I just—I dunno. Andy's cool. We've been talking a lot, y'know? Wandering museums, looking at art."

Tom doesn't say anything for a minute, stuck on the _Andy_ , then raises his camera, Butcher sleeping too soundly to resist. Jonny's his best friend, he reminds himself. _Bros before hos and all that_ , Tom muses with a snort.

  


"What's so funny?" Jon asks.

"Nothing," Tom smiles. "Don't worry about it." He puts his head back on Jon's shoulder.

"School's gonna suck after this," Jon says softly.

"Yep," Tom replies. "I'll send you this photo, though. It can keep you warm during those long Chicago nights."

"Oh, fuck off, dickwad."

Jon jumps off the bench, causing Tom to yell when he nearly loses his balance. Butcher starts on the couch with a loud groan but almost immediately puts his head back down on the armrest. Tom shares a quiet smile with Jon. It's all good between them. They're bros, after all.

 _three_  
Tom's phone rings just as they start the load in at Trees. He makes an apologetic (and somewhat sincere) face at the rest of the guys as he walks a few feet away, lighting up a smoke as he puts the phone to his ear.

"What up, Jonny?" He exhales into the phone, watching the line of Butcher's back as he hefts a case up onto his shoulder, t-shirt shifting up with the movement, exposing the shaded black of his tattoos. Tom swallows thickly, closing his eyes as he tunes back into the conversation.

"--stupid professor, y'know?"

Shit, Tom thinks, scrambling to figure out what he missed. He settles for making a murmur of agreement, taking a quick inhale at the same time. He leans against the wall of the club, eyes on his sneakers.

"I really just need to get the fuck out of here for a few days," Jon continues. Tom can hear the clicking of a keyboard in the background. "Except I can't go home, or my mom will have a fit, and everyone else is out of town. Shit."

Tom looks up as Butcher plucks the cigarette from his hand to take a drag, mouths _Jonny_ as answer to the raised eyebrow. Butcher takes another inhale, and then flips the cigarette around to offer it back to Tom, grabbing the phone with a grin.

"Jon Walker, man. Where are you?" Butcher leans on his left shoulder next to Tom, laughing softly into the receiver. His eyes are serious however, Tom notices, and his smile starts to fade after a few seconds.

"Yeah, but—" Butcher pauses, listening. Tom can hear the cadence of Jon's voice, the familiar up-and-down when he's riled up about something. It's soothing, reminds him of home, even if he's not on the phone. "Jon. Jon. Christ, Walker, shut the fuck up and let me talk."

Tom chuckles and hands his cigarette back to Butcher.

"What are you doing next weekend?"

Butcher talking with a cigarette dangling from his lips has always been one of Tom's favorite things to watch. His fingers itch for his camera, still in his bag on the bus, wanting to save this image for later.

"No, fucker, _next_ weekend, not in two days." Butcher kicks Tom gently, raises his eyebrow while nodding, questioning. "Meet us in California, man. For a long weekend." Tom nods, smiling. "Nah, I'll cover your ticket." Tom kicks Butcher this time. "Me and Tommy, dude. We'll split your ticket. No worries."

Butcher smiles, big and bright. "All right. Yeah. Yeah, okay, here." He hands the phone back to Tom and tosses the cigarette in the dirt, grinding it out with his shoe.

"Jon, hey." Tom keeps his eyes on Butcher while Jon thanks him for the invitation. "Hey, it's no problem, really. I can't wait to see you. I should go help, though."

Butcher clasps him on his shoulder, briefly, before he walks away.

"Yeah, man. I'll call you later with ticket info and shit. Bye."

He closes his phone and lights another cigarette, watching Butcher peel off the long-sleeve tee he wore over a tiny white v-neck.

"Fuck!" Tom pushes off the wall to go help, cigarette half-gone already.

 _four_  
Conveniently, the Santa Barbara airport is only a few miles from the University, so Tom doesn't have to make crazy arrangements to pick up Jon. The bus rolls up, parks with the other buses for all of ten minutes, and Jon comes out with his backpack and flip-flops and climbs the steps like he does it every day.

Later, driving down to Anaheim after the show, Tom is sure Jon belongs here, settled on the couch next to Butcher, heads together and talking quietly. Tom feels like Jon brings home with him wherever he goes, which is probably one of the corniest things ever and is something he will never share with anyone. Yeah, Mike and William are from Chicago, too, but their Chicago isn't his Chicago. It's a subtle difference, but he notices it all the same.

Just like he notices that neither Jon nor Butcher leaves the back lounge that night.

***

The next day finds the three of them wandering Manhattan Beach, Jack the tech having dropped them off while he runs some errands, and they duck into any store that looks interesting. They stop in the Comic Bug for a bit, looking at mint issues of Superman and Captain America. From there they wander around—Trader Joes, trinkets for their moms, and teasing from both Tom and Butcher when Jon buys Mickey and Minnie Mouse catnip toys for Dylan.

They duck into a music store and lose two and a half hours, just like that. Tom and Jon get into a discussion about old-school bass guitars, arguing the merits of Fender's Precision and Gibson's EB-0, trading the guitars between them before they wind up sitting in a corner, playing Led Zeppelin and Cream bass lines until they agree it's a little lame and boring.

"Hey, um, where's Butcher?" Tom looks around the room, blinking his eyes to come out of the daze.

"Andy? He's…" Jon trails off, biting his lip. "Let's go find him."

Tom thinks they should try the percussion room first, but judging by the painful sounds coming through the open practice area, it's definitely not Butcher in there. Keyboards are next to percussion, but there's a teenage boy playing something fast and technical on a Yamaha baby grand. Tom lingers for a minute, admiring his technique.

"Jailbait, dude," Jon whispers in his ear, making him jump and blush. Jon grabs his hand and pulls him out of the room.

They find Butcher in a room full of Marshall amps, legs crossed, playing _Everlong_ and quietly singing along. Tom pulls his camera out of his hoodie pocket, takes a quick photo before slipping the camera away again. Butcher looks up with a smile and stands to put the guitar back on the wall hook.

  


 

"Either of you hungry?" Butcher stretches, rubbing his stomach. Tom nods distractedly and wishes he hadn't put the camera away so soon.

"Uh, guys?" Jon waves his phone in the air. "We've gotta be back in, like, five minutes."

"Shit," Tom exhales. "We're a lot farther away than that. Fuck."

They look at each other dumbly, before Butcher pulls out his own phone.

"I'll call Jack, tell him where we are." Butcher starts to walk toward the entrance, phone up to his ear. Tom notices him trail his fingers along Jon's lower back, give a quick tickle to that spot on Jon's side that Jon doesn't let anyone find out about, ever.

Tom pulls his hood over his head, pulls out a cigarette and walks outside.

***

Forty-five minutes, four cigarettes and a grande iced vanilla latte later, a black SUV pulls up, Jack the tech driving. Tom goes to open the passenger door, but Butcher yanks on his arm and says he has to sit in back. Jon sits up front, but spends the whole ride back twisted around, holding the video camera Jack brought per Butcher's request.

"What's the craziest thing you saw today?" Jon asks in an obnoxious interviewer voice.

Tom looks at Butcher, sitting on his right. Butcher glances back, smirking.

"Catnip-filled Disney characters," Butcher replies.

"Oh, fuck off," Jon laughs. "Butcher, you were playing _Everlong_ earlier. Not over your crush on Dave Grohl yet?"

Tom snickers, leaning into the door, away from Butcher's slap. He tunes out the conversation, choosing instead to watch Jon, who seems more relaxed than Tom's seen him in months. Tom sneaks a photo of him smiling at Butcher, tells himself that he can give it to Butcher at some point, maybe. It's only fair, right?

He's got hundreds of pictures of Butcher for himself, buried on his laptop in a locked folder. But Jon's happy and Jon's his best friend, and maybe feelings aren't as easy to bury, but, fuck, what choice does Tom have?

  


 

The rest of the weekend goes too fast and too slow all at once. The shows never last as long as Tom thinks they should, and he spends countless hours on the bus not being able to escape what's right in front of his eyes. Tom does his best, though, gets in time alone with Jon, talking about college and choices and _life_. It reminds him of home.

They make the long drive up from San Diego to San Francisco over Sunday night; bottles of Jack and Jim Beam opened and emptied. Tom passes out in his bunk sometime around three in the morning, barely an hour out of San Diego. When he wakes up at six to piss, Butcher's bunk is empty and the back lounge is closed off, a thread of light trailing out under the door, over the rum stain Sisky made a week earlier. At ten, the lounge is empty and Butcher's curtain is shut.

Tom sits in the kitchen, flipping through an issue of _Blender_ he's read five times already, chain smoking and drinking Mike's shitty coffee until the driver announces they're only fifteen minutes away from SFO. Just as he's about to get up, Jon and Butcher come in from the bunks, Jon's backpack in Butcher's hand. Jon's scarf, which hasn't been seen since Jon stepped on the bus four days earlier, is already wrapped around Jon's neck.

Tom looks up from the magazine long enough to nod a greeting, and see Jon's smile falter. Tom for once doesn't care, just lights another cigarette and keeps reading.

***

He catches William and Mike giving him looks over the next few days, and he wonders who they think he's jealous of, Jon or Butcher.

If Tom's being really honest, he's not sure himself.

 _five_  
The rest of tour crawls along, shows and highways, parties with the other bands. He spends time with the kids from Panic, telling stories about Chicago and his old bands. Tom wishes that he and Jon could've made their dream work like Ryan and Spencer, but he figures everything works out the way it's meant to. Not like fate or anything. Just finding their own way in the world or something.

Brendon, for all his hyperactivity, really seems interested in photography, and goes on walks with Tom, pointing out various things for Tom to capture on film. Once it's obvious that Brendon isn't going to stop tagging along, Tom gives Brendon his old Canon to use and they compare pictures, different angles of the same statue, shit like that. It's fun, hanging with Brendon, strangely peaceful.

He likes it.

***

Somewhere between Missouri and Milwaukee, Butcher crawls into his bunk when Tom's got his acoustic in his lap and a notebook open next to him.

"Sounds good," Butcher says. "You gonna play it for the others?"

"Nah. It isn't the right sound." Tom sets the guitar down, covering the notebook. Butcher doesn't look pissed, though, so Tom knows he gets it. "What's up?"

"Nothing, just." Butcher keeps his head down, playing with a loose thread on the ugly plaid shirt William mocks him for owning. "Have you heard from Jon lately? It's been a few days."

Closing his eyes, Tom leans against the wall, head back. He can't have this conversation while Butcher looks like someone stole his puppy.

"Um, I think I talked to him in Kansas. Or Iowa? I dunno, one of those states." Tom waves his hand, indicating the greater Midwest. "Said something about having to get his boards in and a paper written."

Butcher makes a noise, agreement maybe, and Tom hears him shifting around until suddenly there are legs in his lap. He looks up, then, and Butcher's on his back, staring at the ceiling, drumming out a rhythm on his chest. After a minute, he realizes the rhythm fits the song he was playing earlier, and his heart and stomach clench painfully.

"Ready to play a home show tonight?" Tom tilts his head back, closes his eyes against the burn.

"Fuck yeah." Tom can hear the grin in the answer, and squeezes Butcher's leg, but doesn't say anything more.

***

It's a perk of being in the band that Tom's allowed to take pictures at the Eagles Club that night. All the guys have stories about wishing they had cameras for various sets over the years at this venue, small bands that have gone on to be big hits, bands that don't exist years later.

This time, though, Tom can take pictures all he wants, and he laughs a little, thinking about how pissed he was to have his camera confiscated when he was sixteen. Butcher's adjusting his kit, head cocked, concentrating on the sound coming from the tom, and doesn't notice when the flash goes off.

  


 

"I bet that'll turn out nice."

"Jonny Walker, what a surprise." Tom doesn't turn around, but he can't help the grin spreading on his face behind the camera. He tips his head toward Butcher. "He know about this?"

"Nah," Jon says. Tom looks at him, then, at the blush rising on his cheeks. "But, y'know. It's only an hour away, right? Had to come."

"Right," Tom mutters. "Well, I'm glad you did. He's been moping around the bus."

Jon raises an eyebrow, but Butcher stops playing then, letting out a yell as he drops his sticks onto the snare. Tom watches them hug, ignores the tightness in his chest when Butcher tucks his face into Jon's neck and Jon presses a kiss to Butcher's temple.

"Conrad, you know about this?" Butcher asks, finally looking up over Jon's shoulder.

Tom shakes his head, takes a quick picture.

"So, um," Jon starts, pulling away from Butcher slightly, turning so they're all facing each other in a small circle. "I kinda dropped out of school."

"Fuck, Jon." Tom can't help but feel disappointed. "You sure about this?"

"Um. No?" Jon looks down at the floor, biting his lip. "I just couldn't do it anymore, guys."

Butcher tucks his fingers under Jon's chin, makes him look up. "Hey, shh. It's all good, Jon. You can stay with us, finish out the tour." Butcher and Jon both look at Tom then, so he nods, even though he really doesn't want to.

"Yeah, but tour's only for another week, right?" Jon's shoulders slump. "Then I'm back in Chicago, making coffee again and listening to my mom bitch."

Tom knows he should offer up his apartment as a place to crash, tell Jon to stay there while they go back to the UK in April, but then he hears Butcher telling Jon that he should come with them and he finds himself nodding again.

"Well, boys, now that we've got all that settled, I'll leave you two alone." Tom smiles when they do, and starts to walk away. He can't help but glance back over his shoulder to see them kiss and feels guilty when he hates them both for looking so happy.

Tom makes his way to the back room and grabs a few beers. He finishes the first in a few deep gulps and immediately starts on the second, while he checks the tuning on his guitar.

By the time it's their turn to go on, he's more than a little drunk, but he doesn't think he'll fuck up on stage. He gets a few looks from Mike and William during the set and even Sisky comes up at one point and asks him if he's okay, but Tom just takes another swallow of beer and keeps playing.

Later, after they've broken down the set, he listens to everyone tell Butcher he played the best show of the tour that night, hometown pride and all that, but Tom knows better. It's because Jon was standing offstage, beaming the entire time, just like he is now.

Tom grabs the bottle of Jack out of William's hands, takes a long swallow, relishing the burn in his throat. It matches the burn in his chest.

 _six_  
"Thanks for driving me to the airport."

It's the first thing either he or Jon has said since they got in Tom's car twenty minutes earlier. Jon's been strangely quiet, staring out the window as Tom drives.

"It's not a problem, you know that." Tom shoots Jon a glance, before focusing on the road again. "Hey. You okay? Nerves?"

Jon sighs, turns in his seat to face Tom. "Do you think I should've said no?"

Tom laughs, he can't help it. "Fuck, Jonny, _no_. If you had said no I would've kicked your ass and flown you to Vegas myself." He peeks at Jon again. "You know you can do this. This is your shot, man. These guys are big and they're just gonna get bigger."

"Yeah." Jon nods. "I feel bad, though. I mean. I feel like I'm letting you guys down. Betraying you or something."

"Jon, seriously," Tom sighs. "We might be upset at losing you. Jealous as fuck, even, maybe. But you have to get on that plane and go out there. See if it'll even work out before you talk yourself out of it."

Jon shifts in his seat again, tapping his fingers on his thighs.

"How was your visit with Butcher?" Tom knows that Jon got the call when he was up in Milwaukee, yesterday afternoon, and he'd had to drive down and pack up his stuff in less than fifteen hours.

"It was good, you know how it is." Jon smiles, soft, his fingers stilling on his lap.

Tom does not know how it is, actually. He wishes he did.

"Andy agrees with you," Jon continues. "Says this is my chance."

"Then you should listen to us, man." Tom says. "We know of what we speak." He pulls into the Kiss 'n' Fly lot, stopping behind a beat-up Jeep.

They get out, Jon grabbing his backpack from the back seat and Tom popping his trunk to pull out Jon's bass and suitcase. After making sure Jon has everything, Tom grins and pulls him into a tight hug, clapping his back.

"You can do this, Walker. It's your time."

Jon pulls away, grinning. "Thanks. I'll call when I get there." Jon hugs him again, quickly, before picking up his stuff and walking toward the shuttle stop.

Tom gets in his car and just as he's about to pull away, he sees Butcher run up to the shuttle stop, grabbing at Jon's shoulder. He presses the brake, ignoring the beep of the car behind him, and watches Jon set his bass and suitcase down before reaching to hold Butcher's head his hands, kissing him hard.

The shuttle pulls up then, blocking his view. Tom lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding and pulls into traffic. He doesn't look in his rearview mirror as he drives away.

 _seven_  
The great thing about playing the same venue two nights in a row is the downtime. And the hotel. But mainly the downtime. The great thing about this happening in London is, well, it's _London_. Everything's great here.

Including the beer, Tom decides as he finishes off his second pint. Just last month he and some of the guys had found this great little pub and they've made a point of coming back on this tour. Except Jon, of course, who's getting ready for a festival back home with his new band.

Tom looks at Butcher, strangely quiet today, sipping his Bass Pale Ale, not really joining in the conversation around him. Mike's telling a story that involves a lot of hand gestures and has everyone laughing, but Butcher's lost in thought. The sunlight streaming through the window brings out the gold in his hair, and Tom wants to see it in black and white, let the contrast show itself off without benefit of color. He takes a picture, quickly, before Butcher turns to him, a half-smile forming.

  


Butcher turns on his stool to face Tom's table. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Tom nodding his thanks to the server who brings another round to the table for everyone.

"Heard from Jon lately?" Tom finally breaks down and asks. He got an e-mail from Jon the other day, telling him that it was still weird, being with another band, but that he was having fun and oddly enough, it was Spencer encouraging him to wear eyeliner, not Ryan.

"Yeah, we talked this morning, actually." Butcher pauses, taking a sip of his drink. "You'd think he'd fucking know about time zones, but he woke me up around five."

Tom laughs, softly. "How's he doing?"

"Overwhelmed, I think." Butcher shrugs and fiddles with the coaster beneath his glass. "Says he misses me. Us," he amends quickly. "All of us, really."

Tom nods, but doesn't say anything, lighting up a cigarette instead.

"I miss him," Butcher says. "Like, fuck. He was just sitting in here with us last month."

"Yeah," Tom agrees through an exhale. He doesn't say anything else, waiting for Butcher to continue.

Butcher stays silent, taking a drink and looking out the window. After watching a woman juggle a screaming toddler, the dog she's walking, and her cell phone for a minute, Butcher finally sighs and looks back at Tom.

"I didn't expect this, Tom." Butchers says, quietly. "It was just fun, a distraction. And now…"

Tom sets down his empty pint and waves the hand holding his cigarette, gesturing for Butcher to continue.

"Now it's this thing, y'know?" Butcher pauses. " _We're_ a thing. I wasn't expecting that."

Tom bites back a sigh. "I don't think any of us were, man." He looks at Butcher for a long moment. "You happy, though?"

"Yeah, of course," Butcher smiles.

"Jon happy?"

Butcher's blush shows faintly over his cheekbones, above his beard. "Yeah, I think so."

"All right then," Tom says before he takes a long drag on his cigarette. "Another round?"

Butcher looks at his still-unfinished pint, back at Tom's empty glass. "Dude, you've already had three. We've got sound check in thirty."

"Perfect. Time for one more, yeah?" Tom pushes away from the table, his stool scraping loudly on the floor, and goes up to the bar to order a Jameson neat with a Guinness chaser. "Everyone's happy," he says to himself before he swallows the whiskey, setting the glass back on the bar and picking up his pint.

Tom takes a final drag on his cigarette before turning to look at his friends sitting around laughing and talking, Butcher finally taking part in the conversation, grinning at Mike.

"Everyone's happy," he repeats softly, his hand tight around the glass.

 _eight_  
It's Murphy's Law that when Warped goes north, Panic's tour goes south, and when they spend a week in California, Jon and the boys are near the Great Lakes. Tom talks to Jon every few days or so, but he knows Butcher talks to him every day. Tom tries not to let it bother him, knows he needs to get over his…whatever it is he has for Butcher, but it's a little difficult when Butcher walks around in nothing but the tiniest shorts and straw hat.

He loses himself in his photography, in his guitar, in the crowds, anonymous boys and girls willing to get on their knees for him. Tom loses himself in alcohol, bottles of whiskey and vodka and tequila in a seemingly endless supply, sometimes coming attached to one of those pretty anonymous scenesters, but more often attached to William.

It's every other tour all over again, but magnified, with no best friend there to catch him when he falls.

Finally, Warped pulls in to Denver, Jon and Brendon passing up a morning of sleeping in—at a hotel—to meet them at the field around ten in the morning, banging on the door of the bus until Mike opens it and flips them both off before letting them in.

Tom looks up blearily from his coffee, cigarette hanging from his lips, and pushes up from the corner of the couch to hug Jon with his free arm, carefully holding his coffee and smoke away from Jon's back.

"It's good to see you, man," Tom says into Jon's shoulder, looking at Brendon standing off to the side, uncomfortable.

"Yeah, same here." Jon squeezes him tight before releasing him and looking toward the bunks.

"Butcher's still asleep, go on." Tom waves him off and tousles Brendon's hair before he sits back down, motioning for Brendon to join him on the couch. Tom offers Brendon his coffee, watching as he takes a big sip, licking his lips after.

"Thanks." Brendon hands the coffee back before settling into the cushions at his back. "Good show yesterday?"

"I guess so, yeah." Tom shrugs a little. "You?"

Brendon nods, a little excitement showing in his eyes. "We did a bunch of interviews before and after. For the DVD."

"Oh. Right."

He doesn't know what DVD Brendon's talking about and Tom tries to hide his surprise, thinks he's succeeded when Brendon keeps talking and telling stories. Eventually Brendon winds down and they sit in an easy silence until they notice noises coming from the bunks. Tom tightens his jaw and stares at the beer stain on the cushion between him and Brendon. After another loud thump and a pained "Fuck!" Brendon coughs softly, causing Tom to look up between his bangs, see the blush on Brendon's face.

"Hey, um." Tom pauses, running a hand over his face and hair. "I've got some photos? On my laptop? Wanna go outside?" He doesn't mean for everything to come out sounding like a question, but Brendon doesn't seem to notice or care, just nods quickly and gets up from the couch to wait by the door.

Tom grabs his computer and smokes, decides against going to his bunk for sunglasses, and follows Brendon down the steps into the shade of a neighboring bus. They sit together, cross-legged, knees brushing, Tom's laptop balanced between them.

Brendon reaches over Tom's arm to click through the photos in the Warped folder. Tom has them in order, saved by venue, and right now they're in Arizona, where they got to go exploring before the relatively short drive to Chula Vista.

"We started this tour in Arizona," Brendon says. "Didn't really get to explore, though. Which sucks, because we were there long enough." Tom nods, looking at the pictures flipping by on the screen, stopping Brendon now and then to point out something he liked, a shot he was particularly pleased with.

"Oh! This is…this is a great shot, Tom." Brendon's zooming in on the photo a little, Butcher small up on the rocks, the brilliant blue sky going on forever behind him.

  


 

Tom smiles a little, remembering the moment, Butcher yelling down at him to hurry up, he was missing the view.

"Oh," Brendon repeats, softer this time. Tom glances at him, immediately looking away from the pity he sees all over Brendon's face.

Brendon puts his hand on Tom's thigh, rubbing in a soft circle. "How long?"

"Too fucking long," Tom snorts. "Let it go, Brendon." He grabs his laptop and gets to his feet abruptly, Brendon's hand falling off his leg and a hurt look in Brendon's eyes.

Tom stands over Brendon, meeting his gaze as Brendon tilts his head up. Neither of them says anything, though, and Tom walks away, leaving Brendon to sit in the dust.

***

It's hours later, close to dusk and after their set, everyone sitting around outside, relaxing and drinking. Ryan and Spencer finally show up, Zack in tow. They're all in the circle, Tom's band, Jon's new band, everyone getting along, telling stories and joking around. Tom is taking pictures of the party, of Panic right in a row, Jon and Butcher at one end, Brendon at the other, separate, looking alone in a crowd of people.

Tom wants to talk to him, make him smile, but the sting of that morning hasn't left him completely, so he takes another long swallow of Jack before he passes the fifth back to William. Brendon looks intently at him, but he turns away. He wants his cigarettes, forgotten on the kitchen table in the bus.

"Fuck," Tom mutters. He stands up, swaying a bit on his feet as he steps over bodies reclining on the ground to make his way to the bus, grabbing another beer from the cooler as he goes.

He comes back out a few minutes later, cigarette half gone already, and immediately notices Jon and Butcher aren't sitting with everyone else. Tom shifts his gaze around the group, deliberately not meeting Brendon's piercing stare, but there's still no Jon and Butcher. Tom spins around, moving between the rows of buses, looking down the narrow spaces until he finds them.

Jon is kissing Butcher, his hands resting on the bus on either side of Butcher's head, and Jon's hips are rocking against Butcher's. Butcher has one hand tangled in Jon's hair; the other under the back of Jon's t-shirt, pushing it up as Butcher pulls Jon closer.

Tom knows he should keep walking, but he can't bring himself to move away. He sips his beer, careful to not to make noise as he takes two steps closer, further into the shadows, but closer to the action.

Butcher's gotten Jon's shirt off, is pinching Jon's nipple, hard from what Tom can see. Jon must love it, though, because he pulls his mouth off Butcher's neck to groan loudly. Jon wraps his hand around Butcher's neck, sliding it up slowly to caress Butcher's jaw, threading his fingers through Butcher's beard before grabbing his hair and yanking Butcher's head back, cushioning it from hitting the side of the bus.

"Fuck," Tom can't help whispering to himself. He takes a final swallow of his beer and crouches slightly, setting the can down before rising and taking another step. It's wrong and it's so fucking hot, watching Jon bite Butcher's earlobe before whispering something he can't hear. Butcher likes whatever it is Jon said, because he's nodding frantically, clawing at Jon's shiny white belt, trying to undo it.

Jon steps back from Butcher, causing Tom to instinctively do the same. But all Jon does is bat Butcher's hands away, unbuckling his belt quickly, before unbuttoning his jeans. Tom hears the slide of Jon's zipper, and bites his lip to stop his own groan. He's got his own button undone and his hand shoved in his shorts before he realizes what he's doing.

Butcher finally moves, smirking as he undoes those stupid tiny shorts just enough for him to reach in and adjust his cock, sliding his hand up and down before Jon grabs his arm and pushes him back against the bus with a thud. Jon presses in close, slides his hands down Butcher's side to his ass, gripping there as they kiss, flashes of teeth and tongue Tom can see all the way in his hiding spot.

Tom's still got his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly, shifting his stance so he can lean his shoulder on the bus. Jon's widened his legs a little, giving him leverage as he lifts Butcher up, hands tight on Butcher's upper legs, and Tom knows he's gonna see finger-shaped bruises on Butcher tomorrow. Tom tightens his hand around the base of his dick, stopping himself from coming too soon.

Butcher's hands are back in Jon's hair, holding on as Jon ruts against him. Tom imagines their dicks are slick, sliding against each other between their bodies where he can't see. He can hear their moans, the whispering murmurs of words he can't make out, and Tom strokes himself in time to Jon's rocking, his other hand in his mouth so he doesn't make noise.

Tom thinks they're getting close, Jon's movements becoming irregular and Butcher getting louder, words cutting through the roaring in Tom's head, until suddenly Jon groans out "Fuck, Andy, fuck. Yes," and Butcher responds by yelling Jon's name.

Tom turns around, takes several steps away and falls to his knees, coming in his jeans, hidden behind a bus and a trash can. He stays there, breathing heavy, head bowed, until he sees sneakers on the ground in front of him.

"Shit, I didn't mean to—" Tom looks up, then, words dying in his throat when he sees Brendon looking down at him, eyes bright in the floodlights shining from somewhere, jaw clenched.

"Enjoy the show?" Brendon asks, voice raw.

"Brendon," Tom starts, but Brendon's already walking away.

Tom barely scrambles to his feet in time to make it to the garbage can before he's throwing up.

 _nine_  
It was like California all over again, picking Jon up at the airport in Charlotte before that day's show. There are only seven shows left and they still have to go to Canada. That means seven days in a bus with Jon and Butcher and their noises, their satisfied smiles, and Tom's head was already pounding when they'd left the airport ten hours earlier.

Tom really wants this tour to fucking end already. This close to the end of Warped he wants to see as little of his band as possible. It's fucking hot, they smell, everyone's cranky and moody, picking fights with each other over the stupidest shit.

Right now, though, everyone's relaxing and the venue in Charlotte is cool, for a parking lot. Tom likes playing parking lots every once in a while, especially when they're allowed to hang out at the actual amphitheatre instead of being forced to stay with the bus. William is off somewhere with Mike, doing God knows what and Adam found some cute little streetteamer and is taking advantage of their empty bus. Tom's drinking with Tony and some of the other guys, surreptitiously watching Jon and Butcher sitting alone at the edge of the stage.

Tom likes watching them, remembering how they looked up against that bus, seeing how happy his two best friends are, even if most of the time he hates that it's Jon and not him who makes Butcher happy. It's gotten better since Denver, a little, maybe, but he's not sure if it's really getting better or if he's drinking so much he just feels the ache less. Either way, Tom thinks, right now it's all good and he can take a photograph of them without wanting to punch them.

  


 

Jon looks up, grinning, just as the flash goes off. Without hesitation, Tom smiles in return, realizing that for once it's genuine. Someone shouts behind him and the moment is broken as he turns to see Mike and William stumble up the steps onto the stage.

"Tommy?" Jon's voice is quiet, serious, and Tom's pretty sure he doesn't want to turn around, but he does anyway.

Jon's holding the camera Tom gave Brendon months ago, an apologetic look on his face. Tom looks at the camera for a long moment before taking it from Jon's hand.

"He tell you to give this to me?" Tom asks softly.

"Yeah." Jon nods. "Said that he wasn't interested in it anymore and to give it back to you next time I saw you."

Tom stares down at the camera, doesn't even look up when Jon walks away. He knows he fucked something up with Brendon, though he's not sure what, exactly. A push of a button and the camera's on, showing the last photo taken. It's the back of Tom, illuminated by floodlights, leaning against a bus, beer dangling from his hand. Tom knows that just outside the edge of the frame Jon and Butcher are leaning against another bus and that Brendon knew what Tom was doing the whole time.

"Fuck."

Tom turns off the camera before sliding it into his pocket. He looks around him, at Jon's sympathetic face, Butcher's head in Jon's lap, the rest of the boys sitting next to them, talking and gesturing wildly, and doesn't know how he's supposed to fit in here.

 _ten_  
Tom wakes up on his couch to his phone buzzing and the door rattling as someone tries to force the chain to break. Whoever it is can fuck off, he thinks, burying his face in the cushion.

"Tommy! Tom, open the fucking door before I kick it in."

Jon. Jon's back from Europe, so it must be November. "Fuck," Tom mutters as he pushes himself off the couch and staggers to the door.

"Jon. Stop making noise, God." Tom pushes the door closed so he can slide the chain out before he opens it and gets Jon wrapped around him for his troubles.

Jon hugs him tight for a minute before pushing him away. Tom stumbles, bangs into the coffee table and just misses stepping on a broken shot glass.

"What the fuck, man?" Tom sits heavily on the couch, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Seriously?" Jon pushes the trash and empty bottles off the coffee table onto the floor and sits gingerly on the edge. "I've been fucking calling you for days. Andy told me what happened and I've been worried about you. You haven't picked up your phone and I was this close to sending my _mom_ over here, but I didn't want her to be the one to find your dead body."

Jon pulls Tom's hands away from his face. "Look at this place. Look at _you_. You're about to fall over the edge, Tommy."

"Fuck you," Tom wrenches his hands from Jon's and stands up, teetering over Jon. "Fuck you. You have no idea what's going on and neither does your fucking _boyfriend_. Oh, wait, yes, he does. He's the one who kicked me out of the band, after all."

Jon's eyes narrow as he stands, bringing them face to face and Tom knows he's walking on thin ice, but he can't bring himself to care. "Why are you even here, Jonny? Shouldn't you be getting laid? Or have you been getting some on the side with your new band?"

Tom should expect the punch, but he doesn't, and he falls onto the couch, blood dripping from his nose.

"I'm gonna ignore what you just said, because I know you didn't mean it." Jon grabs a t-shirt that’s lying on the floor and presses it to Tom's nose. "You saved me once, Tommy. It's my turn now. I'm going on tour in a week and you're coming with me."

Tom shakes his head, wincing from the pain. "No, fuck no. They don't want me there any more than I want to be there."

"Stop being so damn stupid, will you?" Jon pulls the t-shirt gently from Tom's nose, inspecting the damage before pushing it back. "I don't think I broke it." He sits down on the coffee table again, elbows resting on his knees, leaning toward Tom in a way that can only be called earnest.

"It was Brendon's idea, y'know." Jon says it casually, like it's not supposed to matter. "Says if you come, to bring his camera back with you."

Tom groans. "Great. Just what I want is a pity invite and sad looks." He sits up. "No, I'm gonna stay here."

"And what? Drink yourself to death?" Jon grips Tom's knees, squeezing tight. "I can't let that happen, Tommy. So you have a few days to get your shit together, and then you're flying to Vegas with me to meet the guys."

Tom looks around his apartment, messy and destroyed, like his life, and looks at Jon, hopeful and his best friend.

"Yeah, maybe," Tom agrees. "Maybe."

***

Tom secretly loves the routine of the sound check, playing the same chords, the same snippets of song, making sure everything is perfect.

It's different, though, when you're behind a camera instead of a guitar, watching others go through the motions without reaching for an instrument or a drink. He takes a deep breath, pushing through the urge to go out to the bus, to find the bottle of Jack he keeps in his bunk. Instead he walks around the set, crawling behind the cage bars to watch Jon and Brendon warm up.

The spotlights are on, beaming just above their heads, and Tom sees it all in black and white, framed in and caged for him. Brendon grins in his direction, quickly, before turning back to the keys. Tom takes the picture and doesn't leave his hiding spot until it's all over and they head back to the dressing rooms to get ready.

  


  



End file.
